Hero
by ardavenport
Summary: One shift for Station Fifty-One, just doing their jobs in their usual self-sacrificing way. And there is a little bit of a cross-over here, but it is only incidental. Note: one character from another story, 'John Gage's Greatest Hits' appears in this one.
1. Chapter 1

**HERO**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **** **** ** Part 1**

* * *

 _"Well, we can't salute ya,_

 _Can't find a flag,_

 _If that don't suit ya,_

 _That's a drag!"_

The song was all howling, screaming and discordant electric guitars.

 _"School's out for the summer!"_ Johnny dramatically mouthed the words to the song and gestured over the steering wheel.

 _"School's out for – ever!"_

Sitting in the passenger seat of Johnny's Rover, Roy grit his teeth and stared forward at the traffic. He couldn't say anything. He had promised not to say a word during the song before telling his partner what he thought of it. The music, such as it was, shrieked and howled on through the chorus and on to another excruciating verse.

 _"Well, we got no class,_

 _And we got no principals,_

 _We ain't got no intelligence,_

 _We can't even think of a word that rhymes!"_

Johnny gave a quiet, open mouthed scream going into the chorus.

 _"School's. Out. For. Summer!"_

Johnny turned onto the main street going toward the station. They couldn't get there fast enough for Roy. He hardly ever came into work with Johnny; they did not live within easy carpooling distance. But Roy's car was in the shop and Joanne had to take the kids in for a doctor's appointment. And Johnny had the radio on when he arrived and their choice of station had turned into a dare for Roy to just listen to one song all the way through.

Thankfully, the song wound down to its painful end.

 _"School's out for summer!_

 _School's out forever!_

 _School's been blown to pieces!_

 _School's out completely!"_

Johnny exhaled as the DJ launched into a commercial break. "Well, what do you think?" He glanced at Roy as he continued driving and turned down the sound on the ad.

"What do I think?"

"Yeah, what do you think?"

"That was terrible! I don't know how you can even listen to that stuff!" Roy didn't mean to raise his voice so much, but he'd been holding it in for the whole song.

Johnny looked incredulous. "You didn't like it?"

"No!"

"You don't like Alice Cooper?"

"No!" Roy could not imagine why that noise was called music or 'Alice Cooper'; he was sure that had been a male voice doing all the screaming.

Johnny just shook his head and turned into Station Fifty-One's driveway. "I don't believe it. That's incredible. You're incredible. That song is fantastic!"

Roy did not give him any more argument. He was happy that he was 'incredible' enough to not appreciate 'fantastic' music. As long as he did not have to listen to it again. Johnny parked his Rover and they got out under the usual cloudless blue California sky. Captain Stanley's and Mike Stokers' cars were already there as usual. Waving a greeting to Fred O'Brien and Greg Grodnek on C-shift, they went to the locker room to change. Johnny told Mike Stoker about Roy's distaste for Alice Cooper. Roy felt vindicated when their taciturn engineer just shrugged and said that he'd never heard 'her' sing before as he headed out of the locker room. Johnny just shook his head and finally let it drop.

Roy finished dressing first.

"Hey, I'm going to talk to the Cap about what Joanne saw on our last shift."

Johnny stopped buttoning his shirt. "You're gonna tell all the guys, too? Right?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm just going to talk to him about a few things, uh, married man to married man."

Johnny, the committed bachelor, accepted that. "Oh, okay."

Roy greeted Captain Hookrater, in civilian clothes, on his way out of the office. Nobody on any shift at the station was particularly fond of the hard-nosed captain, but he was still a decent firefighter, so no one was openly hostile to his face. In short-sleeved blue uniform shirt and dark pants, Captain Stanley sat at the desk, the small office's big window behind him.

"Roy, come in." He pushed his chair back from the desk. "Tell me, is there anything wrong with this desk?"

Surprised, Roy looked at the plain gray metal desk against the station's red brick wall. Manuals lined up on one side, some pens, file folders, a dictionary, typewriter.

"Uh, no, Cap. It looks just like it always does."

Stanley leaned forward on his elbows, dark brows lowered and muttered, mostly to himself. "Yeah, well, tell _him_ that."

Roy didn't know what to say and Stanley looked up as if he just realized that he'd spoken his thoughts out loud. "What'd you need, Roy?"

"Oh, well, I just wanted to talk to you about that crane rescue on our last shift." Roy closed the door behind him as he spoke. "Uh, privately."

Stanley's brows rose. "Sure, but I don't know what I'd know that you wouldn't. You and John were the ones who got that guy down."

Roy pulled up a chair as plain and government-issue as the desk next to him, the wooden legs scraping on the concrete floor, and sat down. "Well, it turns out, um . . . " He pressed his lips together. "Did you notice that department store across the street from the construction site?"

Stanley shook his head. "Uh, no. Was there something else going on? Is that where that TV crew was filming from?" They had seen a few seconds of themselves on the 11 o'clock news later that night, but went to bed grumbling about the reporter who hogged most of the camera time during her report.

"Yeah, they were there, but, uh, it turns out . . . Joanne was there, too."

"Joanne? She was there? She _saw_ that?" Stanley leaned forward. "You almost fell."

"Yeah." The safety line had easily caught him, but Johnny had to pull him up, while keeping the victim from panicking again. Now he was just glad that he did not know who was watching at the time. "She saw it." Even from across the street anyone could read the '51' on the engine and squad. "There was a sale on sheets and towels there and she went with her friends and they saw the whole thing when they were coming out."

Stanley whistled, shaking his head. "Whoa, I don't know what to tell you. I don't get too specific about the job with my wife. And she doesn't ask. Was she upset about it?"

"Well, Joanne's pretty tough and pretty realistic about it. I guess a lot more realistic than I really gave her credit for." His lips curled in a slow smile. "But she was really happy to see me when I got home. I mean, really . . . happy."

Stanley's brows rose in a knowing way this time, of a husband who knows what a wife's loving appreciation could be like. "Ooh, well. Good job."

Roy openly grinned in agreement. "And Joanne told me that, after we got the guy down, the crowd outside the store cheered."

"Really?" Stanley remembered seeing the crowd, but there was a street with four lanes of traffic between the rescue and them. At the time, he was just glad that the bystanders couldn't get in their way.

"Yeah, they applauded."

"Well, I'll be . . ." He sat back with wonder. "They sure didn't show that on the news, did they?"

Roy agreed. His grin faded, "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, Joanne said she almost had the kids with her, too, but they decided one of them would babysit while the others did the shopping. And she was worried - - and she's really got a point - - what would she tell the kids if something happened?" He ended with a helpless gesture.

With a long exhale, Stanley grimaced. "I don't know what to tell you there. I kind of don't talk much about that with my wife either."

"Yeah. I mean, I guess if anything really bad happens," Roy shied away from saying exactly what 'bad' was, "we're not going to be the ones who have to explain things. And Joanne, she understood, but she asked me what I'd say to your family if something happened to you."

Stanley sat back in surprise. "Uh, what did you say?"

He shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't know. I guess I'd just go to her and hope the words came."

Stanley pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Yeah."

Station Fifty-One was Stanley's first assignment since being promoted to captain. Roy knew that he had not had to have that talk with any of the family members of his men under his command. "Yeah."

Roy could hear the soft tick of the hand movement on the wall clock. It was time to go back to work. He got up.

"Well, I better get to work. Thanks for the talk."

"Oh, yeah. Any time." Stanley shuffled and straightened a sheaf of blank pages on his desk. "You better get going; I'll be out for roll call in a minute."

Roy had time for a few sips of hot coffee and Chet Kelly, who came in just in time, as usual, did not get a chance at the coffee pot before roll call.

Stanley paced before his men as he ticked off the items. C-shift before them had taken care of most of the remaining building inspections for that week.

. . . Stoker. Lopez. Kelly . . .

But there was a lot of hose hanging on the tower out back that needed to be stowed. And they needed to inspect the remodeling at a used bookstore that had skirted around the edge of being barely within the county fire codes for years.

. . . Gage. DeSoto. . . .

Stanley held up a sheet of paper from his clipboard.

"We've got an unusual one here sent down to us from Headquarters. Apparently the Fireman's Welfare and Benefit Fund has received a very generous donation of twenty thousand dollars."

Mike Stoker whistled. The others looked at each other in equal surprise before breaking out into grins.

"That's great, Cap. But why did Headquarters send that down to us?" Roy gestured to them all.

"Because, Station Fifty-One, specifically our shift, is cited by the benefactor for his thanks for helping him out during that earthquake we had last year." Stanley's dark eyebrows lowered in puzzlement. "The problem is, I don't recognize the name at all."

"Well, what's the name?" Stoker looked curiously at the paper that Stanley held.

"Sedgewick Dalrymple." Stanley pronounced each syllable as if perhaps sounding it out would jog his memory. He just shook his head in bafflement. Suddenly Johnny's eyes lit up and he raised a hand.

"Sid!"

"Who?" Roy turned to his partner.

"Sid! It's Sid!"

"Sid?" Roy's brow furrowed and he pointed as he captured an old thought. "Sid? From the earthquake?"

"Yeah! Dalrymple, that's his real name! I had to fill the forms out for him when he was in Rampart." He held up his own palms, semi-miming the nails that were driven into Sid's palms when he fell through a floor in the building his work crew was preparing for demolition when the earthquake hit.

"Sid?" Kelly's eyes lit up. "Whoa, that's Sid?"

"Yeah!" Johnny grinned.

"Yeah. You only visited him a half a dozen times in the hospital. You didn't know his real name?" Lopez elbowed his fellow firefighter.

"Well, you didn't!"

"Yeah, but I didn't want him to be my guru."

"Hey, you guys all agreed, Sid was special. He had like an energy, an aura of pure calm all around him."

No one was willing to go quite that far, but Lopez and Stoker nodded, conceding at least part of Kelly's point. They usually did not see the victims after their rescues. But Sid had been exemplary. Even injured, and in danger from aftershocks, he stayed calm, never panicked, did what they told him, helping them when he could. They never saw him after he left Rampart; he said he was going back east and implied that his brush with danger had inspired him to attempt to make amends with his estranged father, but he did not give any details.

"Yeah, he was special. He didn't look like he was loaded, though."

Captain Stanley agreed with his engineer. "I'll say." He held up the paper. "And the Chief told me that he also gave a large and undisclosed donation to Rampart as well."

"Well, didn't I tell you." Chet pointed to himself as if this was all about him. "Special! That guy was special!"

For once, they all absolutely agreed with him.

They finished roll call and went back to the day room for some more coffee where Roy told them the story about Joanne seeing the crane rescue on their last shift and the onlookers applauding when they brought down the injured man. It was a good way to start the shift as they went to their respective chores. The hose tower, paperwork in the office, taking out the trash. John had latrine duty. He just finished and crossed the equipment room, coming around the back of the squad when he saw that they had a visitor.

"Hey! Sid!"

* * *

 **** **** ** End Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**HERO**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **** **** ** Part 2**

* * *

He was taller than John remembered, but he had only seen Sid prostrate as a victim or in a hospital bed. He was as tall as Captain Stanley, but broader in the shoulders and body. And he wore a suit, charcoal gray, tailored, with a blue and gray tie. He still had a beard, trimmed neatly and his hair was just as long, tied back away from his high forehead. It looked sort of like business formal for a middle-aged hippy; John liked it.

"Wow, you look sharp."

Sid smiled benignly and tidied his lapel. "Thank-you, Johnny. I wanted to give my thanks personally before leaving."

"Oh, hey, no problem." John gave him a friendly slap on the arm. "We should be thanking you."

Stanley agreed. "Yes, that was a very generous donation. There are a lot of retired firefighters who can really use it."

"It was the least I could do. But it was not actually me. The money was from my father's estate; he agreed with me that public servants do not receive enough recognition from the society they serve."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear about your father."

"Thank-you." Sid graciously accepted Stanley's condolences. "We . . . reconciled after a long estrangement after I returned and before he became sick. Unfortunately, the Generation Gap struck my family very badly, even though we all should have been too old for it."

"Well," Stanley nodded. "That's good that you were able to bury the hatchet then." He extended a welcoming wave to the rest of the station. "Would you like to come sit down? We've got a fresh pot of coffee and I'm sure the other guys would love to see you. Gage, go out and get them."

He ran out back and after getting their attention from the rolls of hose, he shouted who their visitor was. They all followed him back to the day room. Sid sat with a glass of orange juice next to him on the kitchen table.

"Hey, guys, you remember Sid." Stanley sat next to him, coffee cup at his elbow.

"Oh, you bet." Marco extended a hand and Sid briefly shook it. The others did the same.

"So, what've you been up to all this time?" Chet leaned forward eagerly over the kitchen table.

"Well, I was telling your Captain, after I finish executing my father's estate, I will be returning to teaching."

"Oh, hey, that sounds great." John grinned and nodded to the others. "What do you teach?"

"History mostly."

"Well, I got pretty good grades when I took history. But I don't remember that much of it now."

"He's not teaching high school, Gage." Stanley dismissed the remark. "Sid here's a college professor."

"Only now returning from a very long sabbatical in the sixties." Sid sighed.

"Well, that sounds good. What kind of history do you teach?" Roy stood next to the wall with Marco.

"All kinds, I like to think, though I have improved my knowledge of the eastern hemisphere of the globe, the teaching of which is sadly deficient in too many schools in the U.S. I did my thesis work on the Irish potato famine."

"Oh, hey, Chet," John glanced at Kelly next to his, "sounds right up your alley."

"Hey, don't knock the Irish, pal. We've got just as proud a history as the Indians."

"Oh, yeah - - " The legs of John's chair scrapped on the floor as he turned to face his adversary.

"The Irish potato famine was a colossal calamity that decimated the entire island." The fire fighters turned to Sid as he started his narrative. "Starting with crop failures in 1845 and 46, the potato blight caused a complete collapse of the food supply. Whole villages were wiped out as people died of starvation and the diseases that come with famine. Even more immigrated to the New World to escape the disaster. The population dropped from an estimated eight million in 1840 to less than half that fifteen years later and it has never recovered to this day. The English, who had colonized Ireland centuries ago - - even though the island was already populated - - initiated a series of social experiments that only made the situation worse and contributed to the loss of Irish culture as well as lives." Sid smiled sadly. "Before the famine, most Irish did not even speak English; they spoke Gaelic. Thirty years later, less than ten percent of the people spoke Gaelic and only a handful speak it now. The language may die out entirely in the next generation."

They all stared, spell-bound by the tale and Sid's soft voice.

"Yeah! What he said!" Kelly swatted Gage's arm.

"Of course." Sid leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "The deprivations of the potato famine, dire as they were, were minor compared to holocaust that occurred when European explorers arrived in the Americas. The entire native population of the island of Cuba is thought to have been completely wiped out by the diseases brought by Columbus and those who followed him. And in North America, the mortality rates in the Indian villages were 80 to 90 percent. Of course, no one knew what germs were back then, but the Europeans did know about contagion and they sometimes even encouraged the spread of epidemics. And when settlers moved out west, along with the plagues of smallpox, measles and chicken pox, the white hunters all but wiped out the buffalo, the chief source of food for the plains Indians, making it impossible for them to survive the way they had for thousands of years." He inclined his head toward John with a sympathetic smile. "You should consider yourself a fortunate survivor."

"Uuuuh . . ." John had never heard any college professor deliver such a blunt and frank statement of the facts and his brain was having trouble taking in the concept that they could.

"Perhaps, you two should share your histories. Learn each other's stories. Walk in each other's shoes. I have found that learning by tasting the other person's food, listening to their music, living as they do, to be an adventure."

Gage eyed Kelly. Kelly eyed Gage.

"Uh, how far do you want to walk in another man's shoes? I mean, if they don't fit, you could get pretty sore feet." Roy added a half-grin for levity, not wanting to offend.

Sid sighed, his spell broken. "I have learned that it is sometimes best not to walk too far. Or you risk getting lost. But, Captain," Sid turned back to Stanley, "I did not mean to bring news of disease and famine with me."

On the other side of the table, Gage and Kelly exchanged mutual air-slaps before nudging their chairs a little bit away from each other.

"When I was visiting your Chief, he informed me that your regulations would allow me to bring you all lunch."

The smiles on the firefighters faces returned. "Well, that's very generous of you. We'll take you up on it. We've got a whole kitchen here for whatever you have in mind." He gestured toward the kitchen sink, stove and counters, spotless in the morning light coming in from the wide windows on the east wall.

Sid shook his head and reached inside his jacket. "I would not presume to assume that we would share the same tastes in food. All our meals do not need to be adventures." He smiled. "However, I am reliably informed that Goodman Brothers here produces an excellent delicatessen lunch, or at least as good as can be had in Los Angeles." He handed Stanley a card. "I have made arrangements, with your approval, for them to deliver a selection of sandwiches and salads. They should call at eleven to confirm the delivery. They will be happy to accommodate your unusual schedule. Apparently they needed the Fire Department's services in their kitchen a few years ago."

John didn't recognize the name of the business, and from the expression of the faces of the others, they did not either, but it could have been any station in the area.

Stanley accepted the card. "I'm sure it'll be - - - "

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh - BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Six chairs pushed back from the kitchen table.

"Squad Fifty-One - Man injured - 9713 Stetson Way - 9713 Stetson Way - Cross Street, Maple - Time Out: Nine-forty-two."

Roy was out the door first, John right behind. He slowed down enough to check the wall map to confirm that it was a residential address before going around the front of the squad and getting in, grabbing his helmet as he sat down. Roy had the engine going and the garage door rattled up as they heard Captain Stanley's voice responding for them.

"Squad Fifty-One, KMG 365."

With siren and reds flashing, they started to roll out. Roy slammed on the breaks. A white station wagon that did not even slow down whizzed by.

Johnny gave the fleeing car his most heart-felt glare. "Idiot." The other traffic stopped and Roy turned to the left.

"Who does that guy think he is? Where's a cop when you need one?" A ticket for not stopping for a fire vehicle on a response would be a serious, costly and well-deserved moving violation for the driver.

Roy only had eyes for the road. He shrugged. "I guess some people just don't look where they're going. Left up here?"

"Yeah."

Hyper-sensitive to the traffic around them the rest of the way, (all the other cars behaved themselves and pulled aside) they arrived at a large house with a green lawn in a leafy neighborhood. A woman in a white, pink, yellow and blue patterned kaftan, side sleeves fluttering, ran out to them.

"Oh, it's my pool man. He's - he tripped and fell - - and - - and he's hurt - - he can't stand - - so clumsy of him." The woman fluttered in place. She looked maybe in her late forties, with a matronly but shapely figure, bouncy frosted curls and dark eye make-up.

"Can you tell us where he's hurt, Ma'am? Is he conscious?" Roy joined John at the side of the squad, taking out their equipment boxes.

"Oh, he's conscious, and he tripped. I - I think he broke his leg. I didn't look." Her speech speeded up. "Oh, I didn't look."

John grabbed a leg splint and they hurried after her to a side gate into the back yard. There was a big kidney-shaped, chlorine-scented pool with a scattering of leaf debris in its blue water, and on the far side of it a small pink pool house, separate from the main house. John's foot slipped on wet, decorative tile set in the concrete around the pool, but he caught himself, arms keeping a good grip on Biophone and splint.

The victim looked like he was in his early twenties, dark hair, thick mustache. He lay near the pool house awning, sunlight shining down on the bright flowered tablecloth covering him. The insignia on his gray shirt pocket said 'Neptune Pools' in red letters.

The woman announced them. "They're here! They're here!" He white sandals clattered on the concrete and tile.

Roy knelt by the man. "Hello, Sir. I'm Roy DeSoto; I'm a paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department. What's your name? Can you tell us where you're hurt?"

"Aye, I'm Miguel. It's my leg. I fell on it - - " he grimaced in pain " - - es mui malo - malo." He had a heavy Mexican accent, but, thankfully he did not seem to have trouble understanding English.

John knelt on his other side, pushing aside a few thorny red roses scattered on the ground. He opened the Biophone, turning it on. Roy looked under the covering. John saw his partner's blue eyes go wide and he put the Biophone receiver down and lifted his side of the cloth.

It was a bad break. Right leg, no broken skin, but a lot of bruising and a bulge that was probably one fractured end of the tibia. But the injury was particularly stunning in how visible it was, because under the cloth, their victim was not wearing any pants. Or underwear. He had quite a lot of thick black body hair.

Roy had already dropped his side of the cloth and was taking Miguel's vital signs. John called Rampart.

"It was just a silly accident." The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Flanders, nattered on. "Miguel was just starting with the pool and those tiles were wet and so, so, soooo slippery and I was inside when I heard this noise and poor Miguel cried out in pain. It was just terrible. And I came out and he was just lying here. All by himself, poor thing. I called right away as soon as I got the number from the operator. And I didn't move him, because I've heard you're not supposed to do that. And really, how could I move such a big strong man . . . "

She was five feet away and didn't try to get in their way, so they both ignored the low-level noise. Dispatch confirmed that the ETA for an ambulance was ten minutes on the HT. Roy acknowledged them.

"Oh, we don't have to call an ambulance, do we?" Mrs. Flanders clasped her hands together and leaned forward, but did not step any closer. "I mean, all that noise. It will disturb the neighbors and poor Miguel will be so embarrassed by such a silly accident."

Roy turned his head back to her. "Yes, Ma'am. This is a serious break. It's going to have to be x-rayed and set at the hospital."

"Oh, pooh." Her red lips pouted. "Well, if they have to . . . how soon can they leave?"

"They'll be in and out of here as quick as they can." Roy did not look at her as he put away the pressure cuff. John had the splint ready and they pulled the flowered cloth back from the leg while keeping it over the middle part of his body. Miguel moaned and grunted, visibly gritting his white teeth as they immobilized his leg. John reported their success to Dr. Early at Rampart as Roy prepared the IV.

When he was ready to transport, Mrs. Flanders approached close enough for their victim to look up at her.

"I am so sorry, beautiful lady. I was so clumsy. I cannot be your bandito today."

"Ooh!" Mrs. Flanders jumped back, startled. "Ooh, he says the sweetest things. Bandito. That's what we call our pool. It's just our little Bandito." She grinned nervously, her stacked heel sandals crushing a rose stem. Roy and John tended to their victim as if he was the only person there.

When the ambulance arrived, paramedics and ambulance crew helped load Miguel onto the stretcher. Roy gathered their equipment into the drug box and prepared to go with them.

"Wait!" John dove around Mrs. Flanders and snatched a pair of gray men's pants draped over a bush. A sombrero lay on the ground next to it. He handed the pants to one of the attendants.

"He . . . might need those." He stepped back and avoided looking at Mrs. Flanders. She did not seem to mind.

* * *

 **** **** ** End Part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**HERO**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **** **** ** Part 3**

* * *

As soon as they were finished at Rampart Emergency after delivering Miguel, they were sent out on another call. A man punched a hole in his wall and then couldn't get it out. His hand and wrist only had minor cuts and scrapes and to prove he was fine, he signed his Refusal of Care form with it before tossing them out of his house with no thanks to them. Johnny was able to wipe off most of the bloody smear on the form.

So, it was well past eleven before they got back to the Station. A delicatessen's feast awaited them.

"Wow," Johnny wiped a smudge of mustard off his lip, his mouth full of roast beef and white bread. "This is fan-tastic!" He crammed another bite in.

"Mmmmmm." Roy nodded with feeling over his own mouthful of pastrami and rye.

"Yeah, Sid really came through." Marco leaned back and rubbed his stomach. "I couldn't eat another bite."

"Try the potato salad and the coleslaw; they're great." Mike waved a kosher dill pickle spear at them before crunching into it.

Both paramedics took heaping spoonfuls of both, while the others filled them in on the rest of Sid's visit. He did not stay long after they went out on their run. He was flying back to the east coast to continue as his father's executor and when he was finished with that, he would resume his position as a college professor in the Midwest from which he had taken his extended sabbatical to India and the far East.

"He's studied with mystics, yogis, the high lama." Chet's eyes glowed with admiration. "You could just feel the vibes pouring off of him."

John scowled, not wanting to openly agree with Chet, no matter how right he was about their benefactor. And if he was going to teach the history he talked about earlier . . . nothing but good could come from that. Then he caught a tomato slice trying to slither out of the back end of his sandwich.

"Well, he really was something," Roy nodded.

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh - BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

John inwardly groaned for a second - - couldn't they just get through one meal? - - before he took a last big bite as he pushed his chair back.

"Engine Fifty-One - Trash fire - in the alley, 12852 Greenart Street - 12852 Greenart Street - Cross Street, Turner - Time Out: Twelve Forty-One."

The others left. A moment later the engine was gone, siren blaring down the street before fading away.

Roy sighed. "Boy, I'm glad that - - "

"Roy! Don't say it!"

"Hunh?"

"You'll jinx it! Just finish eating."

Understanding crossed DeSoto's face. "Oh. Yeah." He nodded and picked up his sandwich again.

John was convinced that whatever luck or fate or karma that paramedics had would come after them if they talked about being lucky to not get a call when they sat down to eat. They had left too many unfinished meals and barely touched hamburgers for it not to be so. Even Roy, who said he didn't believe in things like that, admitted that it sure felt that way to him.

They did finish their meal. Two sandwiches each with big helpings of the side dishes and big glasses of milk. And when John opened the fridge to put away the leftovers, he saw that there was plenty more for dinner, too. After that, they cleaned up the kitchen. If the Engine crew was out working, they would clean up.

But they had to leave a sink full of dishes when they got a call: "Woman trapped on a ceiling". They were two thirds of the way there before it was canceled leaving them to wonder how someone could get trapped on a ceiling and who got the woman down. They got turned around, going back to the station when another call came in, "Man with chest pains".

Loaded up with Biophone, defibrillator, oxygen and drug box, the man's wife escorted them into the small living room of their home. But his chest pains had nothing to do with his heart. His entire upper body was covered in layers of duct tape. Apparently the wife was trying to economize by sewing her husband's clothes and she had read that she could make a cheap tailor's dummy using duct tape. The problem was that they couldn't remove it without ripping off all the man's body hair. Roy had heard about this trick from one of his wife's friends. But the technique required an old t-shirt under the duct tape so it could be easily cut off and removed, something that this couple had not thought about all the way through. They rescued the man by dissolving the tape glue with an extra-large bottle of baby oil from the bathroom.

Johnny almost dropped the Biophone as they were putting their equipment back in the squad. His hands were still a little slippery even after they had both washed them. He wrinkled his nose as he sat down in the passenger seat and sniffed his perfume-scented fingers.

When they got back to Station Fifty-One, the engine company was still out and the last entry for them was still the trash fire they went out on.

"Maybe they got called out on multiple runs like us?" Roy looked up, his finger on the log entry.

John shrugged. "That or it was way worse than just a trash fire."

The answer came when the engine crew rolled in, the big red fire truck rumbling as Mike Stoker backed it in slowly.

John put his hands on his hips. "Well, that must have been some trash fire."

"You would not be-LIEVE what happened." Kelly's turnouts were only a little damp in places and not much sootier than usual.

"Un-be-LIEVABLE." Captain Stanley waved his hand as he followed Kelly around the front of the engine.

"Yeah, that was not something I want to do again." Marco joined Mike who climbed down from the driver's side.

"Well, what happened?" John's tone hit an impatient high pitch.

Chet started. "Well, we get there and there's smoke, but not a lot, so we drop the hose by a hydrant on the street and we turn the corner, and there's this big pile of trash in the middle of the alley like a big bonfire. And there's this old guy, looks like he's a Forty-Niner or something, throwing stuff on it. So, the Cap gets on the horn and tells him to get away from it so we can put the fire out. But he starts shouting and waving us away. He says, it's his fire and he can burn what he wants."

"You're kidding?" Roy stared back at the engine crew. "He was doing that in an alley?"

Kelly put his hand to his chest. "God's honest truth."

"There were two houses with yards on either side, sparks flying everywhere." Stoker shook his head.

"And then, the guy starts shouting at us to leave, that he doesn't need us, and just to make his point, he starts throwing stuff at us."

"Did anyone get hit?" Roy did not see any injuries on his fellow firefighters.

"Nah, but we had to back off until Marco here got back from the hydrant and the Cap called the cops. And with the water we at least had something to fight back with." Kelly took a defensive stance, arms up cradling an imaginary fire hose. "So, when he starts throwing old chair legs with rusty nails sticking out of them again, I just gave him a quick blast in his direction before going after the fire."

John put his hands on his hips. "Was he hurt?"

"Nayh," Kelly waved off the paramedic's concern. "I wasn't going to hit an old guy like that with a fire hose." He looked offended at the suggestion that he would. "I aimed just enough in his direction to get him to back off. But he just keeps yelling, mad as wet cat and runs into his yard, which is crammed full of the junk he was burning and he gets a pitchfork and starts jabbing at the hose through the fence. Well, Marco and Mike get it out of the way pretty quick and I try giving another shot of water in his direction, but now he's got all kinds of cover to hide behind - really, you should have seen that yard - it was piled high with junk. And a few seconds later, he's shouting again and lobbing more stuff at us over the fence.

"And all the while, we're still trying to put out that fire." Marco folded his arms over his chest.

"The cops are taking their sweet time getting there and this old guy is throwing everything, I mean everything at us," Chet held his arms out wide, "over that fence. Buy you know what the last thing was that he threw just before the cops get there?"

Roy's brows furrowed. He had a guess.

John impatiently put his hands on his hips. "What?"

"Kitchen sink."

John's mouth gaped back at Chet as he finished with the details. "Lobbed it right over the fence. Didn't hit anyone, it was pretty heavy. But he threw it. He must have been stronger than he looked."

"You're kidding."

"He's not kidding." Marco nodded his affirmative back at Roy. They all headed into the day room and Roy looked at their captain.

"So, were you guys getting things thrown at you all that time?"

"No." Stanley went to the coffee pot. "We had to hang around and talk to the cops after they hauled the old guy away." He poured a cup before going to the office to fill out the station log. "And then talk to somebody from the county about the junk in the yard."

They all took a rest at the kitchen table and their last run reminded Chet of a barbecue he had gone to last weekend.

"It's like people expect me to be a fireman all the time. Like I don't take a day off every now and then."

Marco looked up from the _LA Times_. "I thought you said that the only thing you ever wanted to be was a firefighter."

"Well, that's beside the point. I still like to go off-duty sometimes."

Roy poured himself some coffee from the pot on the kitchen counter. "So, did they ask you to put out the barbecue?"

"Pretty much. After I tell my brother-in-law that he doesn't have to put a whole can of lighter fluid on the coals to get'em started, he just points to the garden hose and tells me that I can put it out."

Roy scowled. "He didn't use a whole can, did he?"

"Just about! You should have seen the flames shooting up when he lit it. I'm surprised he didn't singe his eyebrows off." He sat back in his chair with a smug expression. "So, since he insisted, I just picked up the garden hose and gave him a little demonstration."

Standing next to Roy, Johnny paused, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. "Oh, Chet, you didn't!"

The other guys at the table laughed.

"So, you actually did hit your brother-in-law with the garden hose."

Chet just smugly shrugged back at Marco in reply.

"Remind me not to go to your family barbecues." Roy slid into a chair at the table.

RRR-RRR-III-III-III-NNN-NGG!

The doorbell alarm went off. The firemen in the kitchen looked up, but Captain Stanley was in the office and would answer it. A moment later he strolled in.

"Who was it, Cap?"

In answer to his engineer, Stanley tossed a flimsy pamphlet onto the table. There were faded blue and red pictures of damnation and doom to unbelievers and large print bible verses on the pages promising more of the same. No one could figure out why any religious people would be knocking on doors on their street. Station Fifty-One was in an industrial area, not residential at all.

With a grunt, Stanley left them with it. Chet made a passable paper airplane that sailed right into the trash can on its one and only flight.

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh - BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"Squad Fifty-One - Man injured - at the turn-off to Grimby Road off of Sandhill Highway - at the turn-off to Grimby Road off of Sandhill Highway - Time Out: Three-Seventeen."

DeSoto and Gage were up and at the door before the call was finished and they crossed paths with Captain Stanley on his way to the radio.

"Squad Fifty-One, KMG 365."

Both of them had looked at the wall map to confirm the location. It was out of their area. Squad Fifteen had to be busy on another call. Given the distance and depending on what it was, they would be lucky if they were back for dinner.

Reds flashing, siren blaring, John took the map out of the glove box. After taming the enormous paper accordion, he pointed toward a canyon road. Roy's eyes flicked toward their destination and kept driving. They usually did not talk much about anything but the run on their way out. It was all about the run for both of them, and there wasn't much to say except for the occasional map check.

The sun was well past its zenith in the sky by the time the squad found the turn off to 'Grimby Road', it was narrow and barely paved amidst the tall, dry grasses and overgrown bushes. And there was a brown sedan and an ambulance parked under a scrubby tree by the turn.

An attendant in white and an older man in a pale blue short-sleeve shirt and brick red pants waved at them from up ahead. Roy killed the siren and brought the squad up next to them.

"We've got a man in a ditch with a broken leg up there." The man in white pointed - - neither Roy nor John knew him - - toward a rise and turn up the road. "We can't get the gurney or our rig up there. He's got a broken leg and he needs a better splint than what he's got." He waved toward the red and white station-wagon-style ambulance parked by the sedan.

Roy peered up at the gravel road and the tall bushes and trees. "Can we get through?"

"Oh, you won't have any problems. And it's just a little bit down the road around that corner. But our old crate isn't made for rough riding. The company's supposed to retire it this year."

Shifting closer to Roy, John leaned toward them. "Are you sure his leg is broken?"

"He's sure. These guys are all doctors." His voice rose with the novel discovery that doctors could break their legs just like everyone else.

The older man held up a cautious finger. "I'm just a psychiatrist." He was short, with a generous amount of scalp visible above his wavy gray hair and a large, almost white, mustache.

"All right, well hop on; we'll take you up there."

"Great." The ambulance attendant eagerly ran around to the running board on Johnny's side of the squad, but the gray-haired psychiatrist hesitated. Roy started to get out, to let the older mad sit in the of squad's bench seat, but he stepped up and gripped the door and the strut supporting the rear-view mirror.

"Are you're okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Driving very slowly, gravel crunching under their tires, Roy kept half-an-eye on their older passenger. The road was bumpy and rutted, but not a serious challenge for the squad's 440 cubic-inch engine and four-wheel drive. By the time they made the turn, the older man was grinning broadly as he tightly gripped the red fire department squad. "I never thought I'd get to do this!"

They saw a man in a white hat and a blue, orange and red Hawaiian shirt up ahead on the road. He waved his arms as if he was flagging down a plane, just in case his blaring shirt wasn't enough for them to notice him. Roy pulled up to where he pointed and put the squad in park. The top half of the other ambulance attendant was visible; he seemed to be standing in a hole.

"Hey, we're glad to see you . . . finally."

Roy and Johnny ignored the implied criticism and got out, Johnny going to get their equipment, Roy went to the ambulance attendant - - John and Roy did not know him either - -waiting for them.

"We're just going to need the stokes, no ropes, Johnny!"

'Man in a ditch' could be anything from a mud puddle to a deep ravine. This hole was just a three foot hop down, but that was enough to keep anyone from lifting a man with a delicate injury up to a gurney on the side.

After getting the ambulance attendant who at met them on the road to help with getting out the equipment and the stokes John joined his partner on the other side of the victim and then gaped in mutual surprise at the improvised first aid.

Three golf clubs and two wide white belts immobilized the injured leg.

The man in the Hawaiian shirt threw his hands up. "We thought it might work."

"Yeah, and I was dumb enough to go along with it." Their victim was lucid and deeply embarrassed. A rolled up jacket pillowed his head in the dusty, rocky ditch. John handed Roy the drug box and the splint.

"Hey, it was worth a shot. We could have been out of here except for that excruciating pain thing that you just couldn't stop complaining about." The man in the Hawaiian shirt knelt by the edge of the ditch.

"Yeah, I guess I'm just a prima dona about that."

Roy introduced himself and John and knelt by the injured leg. The man in the Hawaiian shirt was 'Hawkeye' Pierce. Their victim was B.J. Hunnicutt. And they confirmed that they were all doctors. Except Pierce told them that the State of California did not think he was a doctor; he was visiting from Maine. The third man repeated that he was 'just a psychiatrist'.

"I'm the doctor!" Hunnicutt announced before falling back onto his jacket-pillow. "Naturally, I'm the one who gets the broken leg."

"Naturally." His Hawaiian-shirted friend agreed with a distinctive Grouch Marx accent.

"Hawk, you're not helping."

"Sorry." The Grocho Marx tone vanished.

They had already ripped open the pant leg up past the knee, revealing the swollen leg. Hunnicutt told them that it was the tibia, spiral fracture.

"I've seen enough accidents; I know what this is."

"Rampart . . . Rampart . . . this is squad Fifty-One. Do you read?" Johnny looked up from the Biophone. "I can't get a signal." Concerned, he looked around at the brush and scrub covered hills around them and then at his partner. "I'm not getting through to Rampart."

"You're fine. I'm licensed." Grimacing, Hunnicutt looked up at them. "Trauma surgery, emergency medicine. San Francisco General."

"I'm, uh, going to have to un-do this . . . " Roy hesitated with the splint. Hunnicutt nodded.

"The sooner you put on a 'proper' splint," his eyes went up to his friends, "on it. The faster we get out of here."

Johnny took his vital signs and they were a little shocky. Dr. Pierce hopped down into the ditch to help support Hunnicutt's leg while they made the switch and took away the belts and golf clubs. When Freedman got his belt back, he pulled his pants up and put it back on.

"IV. D5W. You have my blessing." Hunnicutt confirmed the obvious, but he declined any painkiller through gritted teeth.

"Wait, you guys deliver?" Dr. Pierce looked very impressed with Roy's IV. "Hey, Beej, you were right; it was worth the wait. I've to get some of this back home."

"I've been telling you about this for the last, I don't know . . . five years? More?" Hunnicutt looked a little uncertain. "I was going to take him on a tour, when we got back to San Francisco. I just wasn't expecting to be the star of my own show."

"That's Hollywood for you." Pirece reverted back to Groucho Marx.

When they were finished with the IV and the leg, there was just enough room in the ditch for Roy, Johnny and the ambulance attendants to position the stokes next to Hunnicutt and lift him into it. Roy declined to transfer him to the gurney since it would easier to walk him down on the stokes. The ambulance attendants got to carry that with the drug box and Biophone at Hunnicutt's feet. Johnny drove the squad and Roy helped Freedman collect the golf clubs and carried the bag for the older man.

"It's kind of a strange place to play golf."

Freedman shrugged. "Well, I've been hiking around here before. It kind of reminds me of a place where we played golf back when we were in the army."

Roy squinted at their surroundings, the tall dry grass, bushes and steep, rocky hills. He had served in the army. Fresh out of boot camp, he had been ready to be shipped out to Vietnam when a minor injury spared him and he spent the rest of his service on stateside Army bases. "The Army has nicer golf courses than this."

Freedman sighed. "Not in Korea."

"Oh."

The ambulance attendants were very fit, so it did not take long for them to get back to their vehicle. They actually had a choice of hospitals; St. Francis was actually closer, but Rampart was larger and better equipped. Hunnicutt opted for Rampart since his vital signs were better and he preferred the orthopedic surgeons' work there. He also wanted to get up to X-ray and Orthopedics as soon as possible before too many people recognized him. He knew both Dr. Brackett and the head of St. Francis's emergency department.

"Hey, you're not going to be able to avoid the shame and humiliation forever." Pierce took his hat off and wiped his brow in the heat.

"Yeah, but I can put it off as long as possible."

They loaded Hunnicutt and Roy went with him. Dr. Freedman knew where Rampart was and promised to follow in his own car with Dr. Pierce. Gage took the squad in.

* * *

 **** **** ** End Part 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**HERO**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **** **** ** Part 4**

* * *

When Johnny finally arrived at Rampart, he found Squad Fifteen occupying their usual spot in front of the Emergency entrance along with another ambulance. Had Fifteen been on a run in their area while they were on a run in theirs? Gage shook his head. Sometimes the system was so messed up.

He looked in either direction for Roy, but didn't see him. The place was not very crowded either. There were only three people in the waiting area, no Roy in sight. Base station? Break room? Cafeteria? Doctors Freedman and Pierce strolled in after him. Pierce took a deep breath and commented about the bouquet of the antiseptic.

Gage flagged down a couple friendly faces to help them.

"Hey, Dixie, Roy brought their friend in with a broken leg. Is he still - - "

"HEY!"

Johnny startled at Dr. Pierce's sudden shout.

"Dixie!" He had a huge grin on his face. Dixie McCall, after getting over her surprised, looked the man up and down and then briefly closed her eyes as if in recognition, with possibly not-fond memories. Gage saw her distinctly mouth the word 'Hawkeye.' But Pierce did not seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm for his greeting.

"Nurse Dixie! It's Hawkeye. Hey, you remember Dixie? At the camp?" He nudged his companion. "The party? The pineapples?" Pierce held his hands up to his chest, palms cupping imaginary breasts.

Next to Dixie McCall, Dr. Early mouthed the word 'Pineapples?', his eyes lighting up like a boy getting an early Christmas present.

"Oh, yeah." Freedman finally seemed to recognize her. "Under Major Houlihan. I didn't know lived in town." He also seemed to see the warning in her eyes that Pierce had not caught on to. "Sydney Freedman. It's been a long time."

"Major Freedman."

He shook his head. "Not for a long time. Ever, I hope. Doctor is just fine with me."

"I didn't know you had a practice here, either."

He sighed. "Yeah. In Beverly Hills actually."

"It's surprising how psychosis they have in them thar' hills." Pierce's Groucho Marx came back.

"Well, Dr. Hunnicutt is already up in Orthopedics. So, there's not much to do here. We could go the waiting area and talk about - - "

"Oof!" Doctor Early exhaled suddenly from the chart that Dixie thrust into his chest.

" - - let me show you." She led the two mean toward the reception desk. A few seconds later Dr. Early recovered and followed, still clutching the chart and mouthing, 'Pineapples?'

Gage was dying to know about the pineapples as well, but he was not so foolish as Dr. Early to risk Dixie's ire. Looking the other way, he spotted Roy, coffee cup in hand peering his way from the base station. Johnny hustled down the hall to join him and helped himself to his own cup. He told his partner about the surprise reunion while he filled his cup. Roy agreed that would love to know about the 'pineapples' but would never dare to ask Dixie McCall about them.

Gage was just lifting the steaming black liquid to his lips when the Handi Talkie he'd set down on the counter beeped for attention.

"Squad Fifty-One, are you available?"

Roy picked it up. "Squad Fifty-One, available."

"Squad Fifty-One, assist Engine Fifty-One at the traffic accident at the intersection of Brenden and Ash."

"Aaaarrgh!" Johnny put the cup down. Picking up the drug box (and letting Johnny lug the Biophone) Roy gave him a consoling pat as they headed out.

The traffic cooperated and the location was close, so they got there in six minutes. Roy pulled up to the obvious accident in the middle of an intersection, police cars with reds flashing around it with officers shouting and directing traffic around the accident. Sidewalks full of spectators watched and when any of them inched too close the county deputies told them to get back. There was a whiff of gasoline in the air.

Captain Stanley jogged up to Roy's door before the squad was even parked.

"Are we glad to see you. We got this guy out of his car, but he gashed his leg on the dashboard. Marco's been keeping pressure on it." Stanley jogged with them to where they had taken the victim. He was on the pavement with Marco kneeling over him. There was a lot of blood on the asphalt, bright red. The victim conscious and moaning.

"You OK there, Marco?" Roy knelt by his fellow firefighter.

"Yeah, yeah, just let me know when I can stop doing this." Marco had his head and helmet down, face turned away from his bloody hands, firmly clamped to the wound. There was a disturbing pulse to the blood oozing between his fingers and the bandage from the engine's small first-aid kit, but only a trickle was getting out. Roy reached for the pressure bandages.

"Well, you're doing great; just keep the pressure on."

On the other side of the victim, Johnny was already reading off vital signs to Rampart.

Roy worked fast and as soon as the pressure bandage was on, Marco jumped up and away, shaking his hands, running over to where Kelly was hosing the spilled gasoline off the street. He stuck both hands as close as he could to the side of the water stream.

The ambulance arrived soon after that and Roy was glad to leave the scene with the victim. Traffic was backing out and honking demands to be let through along with a couple of members of the citizenry who were giving the cops a hard time about the street being blocked. And the tow truck to take the car away had still not arrived.

Even the victim, whose name was Wendell, was irritable and complaining that he'd been cut off by an unidentified convertible that the cops were too lazy to go after. But Wendell's car had been the only wreck on the scene, rolled on its side and from the smell of his breath, Roy doubted that his victim could pass a sobriety test.

It was a regrettably thankless run.

Followed immediately by a new call. They did not even make it down the hall in Rampart to pour the coffee that they would have to leave behind before the HT signaled.

"Squad Fifty-One. Are you available?"

"Oooooh!" John threw his head back as he joined his partner in about-face in the hall. Roy shook his head before raising the HT.

"Squad Fifty-One, available."

"Squad Fifty-One, unknown type injury. Seven-Six-Six Moore Road. Seven-Twenty-Six Morgana Lane." They trotted together out to the parked squad waiting for them.

John popped the glove box and got out the street map. Moore Road turned out to be a street two blocks long that ended in a residential cul-de-sac. John pointed which direction to go for Roy, who had slowed the squad to a crawl on their way out of the huge hospital parking lot that they exited with reds on and siren blaring,

A man, mid-forties, average height and weight, emerged from a blue house with a lawn and tree in front as they pulled up to the address. Roy and John jumped right out.

"I-i-i-I E-e-e-r-re!"

The man, his white shirt bloodied, a bunched towel clutched to his face, fled back into the house.

"Wait!" John only paused for a second before diving for the squad compartments and their equipment boxes. They ran in through the open front door after the victim. They found him in the living room, kneeling over an unconscious woman, short slightly graying blond hair on the orange carpet; she looked about the same age as the man. His eyes pleaded for their help. Other than the bloody towel held to his face, he looked unhurt. Roy knelt down next to the female victim, pushing the fallen aluminum ladder away to make room. John took the man's elbow, guiding him toward the couch.

"Okay, my partner's going to take care of her. Now let me look at you." He gave him their names and, sitting on the couch facing him, Gage carefully pulled the bloody towel away from his face.

He had bitten his tongue, badly. John reached for the bandages. Roy was on the Biophone wih Rampart, giving them vital signs. The woman's blood pressure was low, but her pupils were even and responsive. The man nodded when John asked if she was his wife.

The man had obviously been applying pressure to his wound, but it still oozed blood; he would need stitches. And it was impossilbe to bandage in any conventional wasy because of where it was, but he did not have any trouble breathing through his nose, so his airway was good. John accepted the pressure cuff from Roy and collected his vitals. Glancing around the room, he noticed the ladder and light fixture with one missing lightbulb hanging from the high ceiling. And something else . . . .

Turning his head behind him, John spotted the phone on a side table, the same muted orange color as the carpet, with its receiver off the hook. And he heard a small tinny voice that was not coming from the Biophone.

"Did you call us?"

"Aaaaah." The man, clutching the bandage to his wound, shrugged and nodded. Then winced and pointed without moving his head. John picked up the receiver. There was a woman from the fire department dispatcher's office on the other end. He told her about the two victims (unsurprisingly, she was unable to understand him and barely got the correct address), confirmed what the injury actually was (two victims, male with bitten tongue and female with a head injury from a fall) and hung up. He heard a siren coming. The ambulance.

The woman moaned.

"Ooooh, oooe heh her heeee!" The man turned away from her, hunching his shoulders. Roy assured him that she would be fine, but he shook his head and then moaned in pain, but still turned away from her as if he was trying to hide. John looked up at the light fixture and then at the ladder.

"Did you fall from the ladder, or did she?"

"Eeeeee." The man pointed at himself.

"Did you fall on her?"

"Oooooh, ooooh." The man pointed at the entry to the hallway and mimed with his hand someone coming in. Then his hand fell forward, palm down."

John looked to his partner for help and Roy interpreted.

"She came in, and fainted. When she saw you hurt?"

She moaned again and her husband got more agitated. Roy leaned over her. "Ma'am? Ma'am?" But she did not open her eyes or even move her head.

"Eeeeeh! Eeeeeh!" The man nodded and then winced again from the motion. "Uuuuuuh, uuuuh. Eeeee aaaaah uuuuh." He pointed at his wound, and then held up the bloody towel that had been put aside on the couch.

"Blood?" John's brow furrowed. "She saw the blood. And fainted."

The man waved a hand in an excited affirmation, having learned not to move his head too much. Roy finished the thought as the ambulance rolled into the drive and the siren stopped, red lights flashing on the curtains.

"She's afraid of blood! And that's why she fainted."

"Eeeeeh! Eeeeeh! Oooh eeeeh eerrr heee." The man gestured wildly that he had guessed right.

"Okay, okay. We won't let her see anything." John took the towel and put it behind a sofa pillow. When the ambulance attendants came running in with the gurney, the two paramedics warned them about the woman's phobia.

She moaned again as they carefully lifted her up, Roy carefully handling the IV, but she did not open her eyes. One of the attendants (John knew his first name was Tom) looked up from the strap he pulled over her middle. "Uh, what's her name?"

The two paramedics had not asked, but the man, now standing reached for his back pocket with his free hand. John took his wallet and opened it and warily read the name on the California driver's license.

"Uuh, Stanley Lah-boe-low-ski. Uuuuuh, Mrs. Lawbolowsky."

The man shrugged that his pronunciation was good enough.

* * *

 **** **** ** End Part 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**HERO**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **** **** ** Part 5**

* * *

"Afraid of blood?" Dixie McCall's brow furrowed.

"Yeah," Roy lifted his tepid cup of coffee to his lips. "Apparently, he fell off the ladder changing a light bulb and bit his tongue. She came in, saw the blood and passed out on the spot." The woman had come to at the hospital and in spite of her phobia she wanted to see her husband. Doctor Morton wisely advised her to wait until they finished with her skull x-rays and after he had his injury stitched up.

"I wonder what she does every month?" Her brow furrowed.

"Hunh?" John paused tucking in fresh supplies into the open drug box on the counter.

The head nurse looked at the two paramedics, one after the other.

"Oh, nothing." She shrugged.

Sure that he had missed something very important, John opened his mouth to ask, but something more interesting came down the hallway.

"Sid!"

Their guest at the fire station that morning came around the corner with Doctors Brackett and Early in their white doctor's coats. The height difference between them was striking. Sid, with his pony tail and tailored suit looked like a giant next to the two doctors. John Gage had a moment's pause. He'd never seen Brackett so dwarfed; Gage did not think of the Head of Emergency Medicine at Rampart as being much shorter than him.

Roy reached out to shake Sid's hand.

"Hey, I bet you're glad to see this place, standing, I mean."

"Very glad." Sid smiled, but his gaze at their surroundings looked a little wary.

Brackett was smiling. "Sid here has been very generous to Rampart."

"My father's estate, actually."

Brackett nodded, accepting the correction and Roy added the Dalrymple estate's generosity to the Fireman's Welfare and Benefit Fund to their praise. The traffic in the Emergency department was slow enough to allow Brackett to give Sid a short tour and Early joined them at the end, a small thanks for his family's donation. The two paramedics assured him that Station Fifty-One very much appreciated his catered lunch as well.

"Hey!" The group turned and saw a man with a rough beard and wearing a motorcycle jacket with gang patches on it running toward them, two hospital security guards were right behind him.

"Stop him!"

John stepped forward, arms raised, but shied back just as the gang member reached them, something silver glinting in his hand. Sid's voice came from behind him.

"Please."

Snarling, the knife lashed out. Sid's upper body smoothly fell back, just out of reach of the blade whizzing past him. Then Sid's long arm shot out, catching the man's wrist at the end of his swing. Instantly the attacker went to his knees.

"Aaaugh!"

Sid's hand twitched and the gang member's much smaller hand lost its grip and the knife clattered to the floor. The burly security guards caught up to them, one of them scooping up the fallen weapon before they both grabbed the gang member who hardly seemed to notice as he fearfully stared up at Sid. One of the guards looked warily Sid's way as well as they hauled the attacker away.

It was over in seconds.

Dixie got her voice back first.

"Thank-YOU. Are you sure you can't stick around a little bit? We could certainly use you around here."

Sid modestly readjusted his suit jacket. "I am happy to help, but I find myself looking forward to the quiet life of a humble college professor more and more." He brushed his spotless lapels off. "This is a bit more excitement than I prefer."

John found his voice next. "How did you do that? That was - that was AMAZING. Just amazing!"

"I learned quite a few things in the East, during my travels." He put a restraining hand on Gage's shoulder and the paramedic immediately stilled. "Purchased at a higher price than I prefer to admit."

DeSoto, Early and Brackett joined in the praise with handshakes. The doctor added his apology for the mayhem which Sid accepted gracefully, now assured that his charitable contribution had gone to where it was well needed. They were all sorry to see Sid go as he made his farewells, pleading that he had other business to attend to in L.A. before leaving.

Roy and Johnny went back to finishing re-stocking the drug box, but Doctor Brackett lingered.

"So, we ran into Dr. Hunnicutt upstairs from San Francisco General. I didn't know you served with him and his friends in Korea when you were in the Army."

The two paramedics kept their eyes on their drug box and their ears up.

"Yeah, we were wondering about those . . . . pineapples?" Early's voice rose a bit, inviting a hoped for juicy wartime story, but he did not mime Pierce's earlier gesture. Both doctors raised their brows. Dixie remained utterly unflustered.

"Did Pierce and Hunnicutt tell you much?"

"Oh, just that you were . . . " Dixie's calm seemed to cause Bracket a moment's pause as if there might be a dangerous storm coming and his words came out a little more carefully, ". . . .a lot younger back then. That you might have done a little Hawaiian dancing. . . ." Brackett kept his tone carefully neutral, but Early was openly grinning as he spoke.

"They said you looked pretty good in a grass skirt."

Gage and DeSoto exchanged looks at this new bit of information from Dr. Early. But they kept their heads down and continued very slowly filling the drug box.

"Weeeeell." Dixie, ignoring Early, leaned toward Brackett. "Did they mention the MASH where we were all stationed?"

"Mostly that you were closer to the front lines than you've ever mentioned. And you were all a lot younger then."

"Oh, we were. And you and Joe might want to skip the pineapples and maybe talk to those two about doing surgery on those front lines . . . shrapnel wounds, chest wounds, amputations, fingers, arms, legs . . . operating for thirty-six hours straight. The wounded just kept coming. And all the while the camp was being shelled. And half the time it was our side doing the shelling, too.

"Hunnicutt and Piecre saved a lot of lives."

There was a long pause before Brackett spoke. "Sounds like you had a lot to do with saving those lives too, Dix."

"You bet your ass I did."

Nurse McCall tilted her head, acknowledging the silver-haired Early again. "And Joe, at the party we had afterwards, I didn't look good in that grass skirt. I looked fantastic in it."

Early returned a meek and respectful smile. "I'll bet you did."

Dixie's eyes flicked toward the two paramedics, frozen in place.

Roy raised a hand like a shy kid in class. "Uh, we better go."

His partner hastily agreed. "Yeah, we've got to get back to the station." They got a few hurried steps down the hall before Gage whirled around and dove for the forgotten drug box and extra kerlix. They double-timed it down the hall, around the corner and out.

They were safely out in traffic before Gage spoke again. "You know, you told me that Dix was in the Army."

"Yeah." Roy nodded, eyes forward.

"You never said anything about that."

Roy's eyes flicked in his partner's direction. "One thing you learn about in the Army, Johnny, is you don't ask about anything like that."

"Oh."

Gage was having trouble absorbing the intensity of what he had just learned about the already formidable head of nurses back at Rampart Emergency, so it took him a minute to figure out a way to steer away from the subject. But he did.

"Hey, you don't think Sid was in the Army, too, do you?"

Predictably, Johnny talked about Sid for the rest of the trip back to Station Fifty-One. Roy, guiding the squad through traffic, said he found it hard to imagine, Sid being in the Army, though at his age, he likely would have been drafted when he was younger. Gage's gushing praise was whole-heartedly felt by both of them, just in different ways.

Their fellow firefighters were equally impressed, in their own way, as they shared the story over their Sid-sponsored dinner in the dayroom with a demonstration; Roy being Sid (because he was standing further away and could see everything) and Johnny being the motorcycle gang member. They refrained from saying anything about Dixie, as if they could still feel the head nurse's eyes on them.

Mike Stoker nodded and actually said, 'Wow.' Captain Stanley slapped the table and repeated one of Gage's favorite accolades, 'That's incredible.' Marco Lopez agreed with Chet Kelly who had jumped up to emphasize his praise of Sid with his own improvised 'Kung Fu' moves.'

Soon enough Marco was clearing the table; it was his turn to do the dishes. "Hey, you're not going to start calling up Sid, asking him to teach you the 'mysteries of the East'.

Kelly raised a hand in a vow of denial as he brought his dish and glass to the sink. "No way, man. Once the Lone Ranger rides off into the sunset, you don't go chasing after him." He put his hand over his heart. "But he'll be an inspiration to me for the rest of my life."

The others in the room replied with silent sneers, Kelly had jumped into and out of many 'life-long' fads, but no one said anything because Sid was definitely not a fad. Marco conned Kelly into drying the dishes by pointing out that if Sid had been there, he would have helped.

Someone turned on the TV to the local news and the weatherman was just forecasting more endless sunshine for southern California when the alarm sounded.

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh - BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"Station Fifty-One - man with back injury - at the discotheque, 3412 Broadway Circle - 3412 Broadway Circle - Corner of Broadway and Helecho - Time Out: Six-Forty-three."

Johnny did not have to look at the map. He knew where it was. He was not much of a dancer, but he would go dancing for the right girl, and lots of women went to the Funcky Fox. The squad led the engine down the street and Roy turned right when he pointed.

The Funky Fox had a tall neon sign above the entrance, pink and orange letters blaring with an additional flashing 'DISCO' in case anyone was in doubt about what the place was. With reds still on, the squad and engine made their own parking spaces on the street, but when Roy and John, laden with equipment and back board, along with Captain Stanley, got to the door a somewhat confused-looking, bicep-tattooed bouncer blocked the door. A line of people in polyester evening wear behind a rope barrier looked on curiously. Captain Stanley in turnout coat and fire helmet stepped forward.

"We got a call about a man with a back injury."

"Uhh, uhh." The bouncer looked behind him nervously. "Uuhh, uuuhh."

Fortunately a man in a yellow polyester suit, heavy sideburns and unnaturally thick and dark hair came rushing out elbowing the now grateful-looking bouncer aside. "Get in here. Get in here."

" _\- - - Do the hustle! - - -_ "

Instrumental music and flashing lights assaulted them as the man led them through the tables and chairs toward the dance floor.

" _\- - - Oooo-ooooh-oooh-oooooooh. Do it! - - -_ "

The crowd parted, revealing the victim at the edge of the dance floor. A woman in a white dress knelt by a man in a bright colored jacket and horizontally-striped pants. A crowd of people slow-walked though their dance moves as they kept looking over their shoulders at the scene. But they backed out of way quickly enough, so the paramedics ignored them.

"Thank God you're here!" Roy could barely hear the woman shouting in his ear as the music jolted into a new song.

" _\- - Laaaaa-la-la-la-laah. Lah-la-la-laaaah-lah-lah. Oooh-hoo-hooo! - -_ "

Fortunately, Johnny did not need to read the dials on the Biophone to use it with the flashing colored lights overhead, but he wouldn't be able to hear a thing on the reciver. "Cap, can you get them to turn the music off?!"

" _\- - I'm just a love machine and I won't work for nobody but you! - -_ "

He didn't know if Stanley could hear him or not, but it was obvious what they needed. Stanley turned on the man who had led them in. Gage caught a few words ' - - business to run, here! - - ', ' - - man's hurt here! - - ', ' - - can't you just take him out? - - '.

The woman was shouting in Roy's ear. Gage passed the pressure cuff and stethoscope to Roy even though they would be useless until the music stopped; he felt for a pulse. It was strong and fast.

The man with the hair and sideburns finally relented and left with Stanley gripping his arm.

" _\- - I'm just a love machine - -_ CLACK!"

The sound and overhead lights went off, leaving only the lights at the bar and on the tables lit for a few seconds before another switch sounded and normal room lighting came on. There was a chorus of boos from the crowd, but it died down quickly enough.

"Oh thank God!" The woman sat back, throwing her head back in obvious relief. "Do you know that idiot wanted to just drag him off the floor?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Can you tell us what happened?" Roy put on the stethoscope. The man and woman had been dancing and she thought her companion must have been envious of some of the moves of the younger people at the club and he did a few spins with her. Then he suddenly grabbed his lower back and went to his knees.

"I think his back went out and he hit his head on the floor. I didn't catch him fast enough." She shook her head; her hair was brown with tinted blonde highlights and in normal light, her dress was very pale blue and her eye makeup very heavy.

Roy assured her that she did the right thing to not them move him.

"I'm a nurse at St. Francis. And I had to practically scream at that idiot manager to get him to call you."

Stanley returned and John told him they would need an ambulance and help getting the man onto the back board.

The man moaned.

"Oh, Larry, how're you doing?" The woman leaned over him, but stayed out of Roy's way. Gage passed on their victim's vitals to Dr. Brackett at Rampart.

"Oooooh, what happened?"

"Oooh, don't move honey. I got some help for you."

"Oooooh, my back."

He had intense pain in his lower back and admitted to an old football injury. He had movement in his extremities, but tingling in his legs.

"Just keep still, Larry. You're doing fine, you're doing just fine." She stroked his thinning hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry Sylvie, you're got to think I'm a big dope."

"Oh, no, Larry, this could happen to anyone, Anyone. But just lie still." She stopped him from reaching up to her.

"Oh, that's great of you to say," he moaned again, "but, but, you're a nurse? I thought you said you were a stewardess?"

"Ooooh, I'm sorry, Larry. But . . . guys don't want to go out with women my age if they're a nurse."

"You, you mean you're not twenty-nine?"

"Well, . . . "

Sylvie was saved from further explanation by Stanley returning with Marco and Chet. Sylvie's encouragement to her date helped as they carefully eased him onto the back board; Brackett did not want any pain medication because he'd been unconscious and could have a more serious head injury though his pupils looked good. Stanley took on the manager when he started getting loud about them ruining his business. People were starting to leave.

Thankfully, the ambulance arrived soon after that. Sylvie with went with Larry and Roy.

"I've got a confession to make, too. I'm - I'm not really a bank manager. I'm - I'm a plumber."

"A plumber?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry I lied, but a guy can't get a swell girl like you unless they make serious money."

"What? I'm not a gold digger, Larry. And plumbers make a good living; my father's a construction foreman. I don't care how much money you make."

"Really?"

"Don't mess up your IV, Larry." Before Roy could move, Sylvie had put her hand on his arm before he could lift it. They seemed like a nice couple and he asked if they went out to clubs much. Another confession came out. Neither of them cared for disco music, but popular clubs like that seemed to be the only place where they could 'meet people'. Roy had a strong feeling that they wouldn't need to worry about that as long as they stayed together. They were holding hands as they wheeled Larry into Rampart.

* * *

 **** **** ** End Part 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**HERO**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **** **** ** Part 6**

* * *

Oooooooeeeeeeee-mmmmaaaaahhhh - BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

"Station Fifty-One - Structure Fire - One-One-Four-One Orange Blossom Drive - Structure Fire - One-One-Four-One Orange Blossom Drive - Time Out: Two-Fifteen."

Everyone had been sound asleep when the bell sounded. And rolling out of bed, everyone had to make a pit stop at the latrine before running to squad and engine.

"Come-on, come-on, come-on!" Stanley hustled after the last man to the engine.

"Station Fifty-One, KMG-Three-Six-Five." Roy put the microphone back on the hook before sprinting for the squad. The garage door was already up and the engine rolled out first.

The run was at the edge of Station Fifty-One's usual territory, but the trip was faster than usual because of the nearly empty middle-of-the-night streets. Engine Ten, Truck Ten and a Battalion Chief's car were already there, but Station Ten's squad was not. Station Fifty-One was the second alarm and they heard the dispatcher sending another two engines their way. A wooden sign on the lawn in front of the flaming building said "St. Dominic" in huge letters by the street.

The fire was a three story building, its tall narrow windows lit with greedy flame, lighting up the night. An older building with a brick façade, Engine Ten was already pouring water on it with two hoses. The Battalion Chief issued orders with a bullhorn.

"Engine Fifty-One - take the opposite side of the building - fire hydrant across the street!"

Marco and Chet were already out and pulling hose. Stanley ran to the Battalion Chief.

"Squad Fifty-One, take care of the victims on the sidewalk! The ladder is bringing more out!"

They were all clustered on the opposite side of the street. And they were all women wearing the same long white nightgowns. Some had scarves tied over their hair, shawls and blankets over their shoulders and heads. Laden with equipment and oxygen, the two paramedics rushed to them. One barefoot woman in a blue shawl and thick auburn hair met them. She faced them like a woman in charge.

"Is there anyone still in there? Do you have everyone here?"

Instead of answering Roy, the woman turned to the others, huddled together; they looked fearful, but most were standing and not obviously hurt or even coughing. "Sisters! Call out!" She also started pointing, counting as they spoke up.

"Benedictine!", "Maria!", "Job, Mother!" . . . "

Roy turned back to the flaming building. It was a convent.

Very quickly, they had a count. "Four of my sisters! They all sleep upstairs!"

"I'm on it!" Johnny rushed off to report to the Battalion chief. Roy turned back to the women. They were actually in good shape. The Mother Superior, and a woman who Roy immediately thought of as her 'lieutenant' told him about the fire alarm going off and everyone getting out (they conducted regular drills), but the fire . . .

"It just ran up the walls, right up to the ceiling." The 'lieutenant' shivered in her shawl. And she did not sound like a woman easily cowed. "Sister Patrice is in charge of getting everyone out from upstairs. But it was as if the fire chased them down; it spread so fast . . . Patrice never came back."

More sirens arrived. The Battalion Chief assigned the new engines to another side of the burning convent and to defend the neighboring church. New flames were reaching up into the black sky.

One elderly sister was having trouble breathing and Roy took the oxygen to her and immediately he had competent help from the others. Behind him, more streams of water attacked the higher-climbing flames. Burnt wood and stone tainted the air, but it wasn't too bad where they were. The wind was blowing the smoke away from them, but it was not helping with getting the fire under control, either.

Captain Stanley's shout rose above the noise from the scene.

"Gage! What are you doing!?"

At first Roy didn't see his partner amidst all the activity and smoke. Then he saw movement in the shadows of the overgrown bushes at a side door.

The Battalion Chief's bullhorn joined Stanley's shout. "Gage! Get away from the building!"

Helmet down, Gage suddenly came running out - -

\- - just as the fire flashed and the brick façade of the building exploded.

Everyone flinched back, but Roy and the nuns were too far away for the any of the flying debris to reach.

On the lawn outside the burning building, Gage was down, but Roy hesitated to leave his charges.

"Go help him!"

Roy was off like a shot, spurred on by the Mother Superior's command.

DeSoto and Stanley reached Gage at the same time.

"What were you doing, Gage?" Stanley sounded very angry, but a new cry came up from the downed man and it wasn't Gage's voice.

"Johnny, Johnny?!" Roy kicked away smoldering bricks, but his body was curled over forward around something.

"Waaa-aaahhhh!"

"Holy smokes!" Stanley's anger completely vanished.

The tiny baby in the basket that Johnny's body had been shielding was pink and wrinkled and newborn and expressed its anger at how it had been treated with a healthy set of lungs. There was a square envelope pinned to the blanket wrapped around the baby.

"Waaah-waaa-waaaaaaaah!"

Johnny fell away, completely limp, as a shocked Roy cradled the basket. Stanley's shout broke through his surprise and spurred him into action.

"Go! I've got him!"

Roy jumped up and ran as Stanley hauled Johnny over his shoulders.

The nuns across the street greeted them with gasps and Roy was able to hand the basket off to safe hands before helping Stanley lower Gage to the grass. His turnout coat was only singed in places; there were no dents or cracks in the helmet that they took off his head. Stanley opened the Biophone and contacted Rampart while Roy checked his partner's vital signs. Pulse: rapid and thready; skin: pale but not cyanotic, breathing: shallow, blood pressure: low. And unconscious. Possible concussion.

"How's he doing?" The Chief had come over. More sirens had arrived, including an ambulance.

And the four missing nuns, having been rescued by the ladder truck crew were welcomed by their sisters. The Mother Superior, tears running down her cheeks, held the note open when her lieutenant held the crying child.

"He'll be fine, Chief, just got knocked out." Roy hadn't found any broken bones and his reflexes were good, but Roy wanted to use the back board, just in case.

The Chief looked at Gage, the basket, the baby and correctly assessed what had happened. "You've got a good man there, Stanley."

Stanley got up. "Yes, Sir. Take care of him, Roy."

"You bet, Cap."

Stanley left with the Chief. They still had a fire to put out.

"Sister Therese, go with the baby to the hospital. Its name is Sarah. And have your foot looked at. We'll come for you later."

Sister Therese had cut her foot on something during the evacuation. The other nuns had apparently helped themselves to whatever they needed from the drug box to competently bandage the injury. Roy refrained from saying anything about it; if you couldn't trust nuns, then could you trust?

Roy and the ambulance attendants got Johnny on the gurney and loaded into the ambulance and then helped Sister Therese and the still crying baby inside as well. The Mother Superior shut the doors and banged on them that they were secure. The siren started up and they moved out.

"Waa-waa-waaaah!"

The volume of the baby had gone down, but it was still crying as Sister Therese cooed, rocked and comforted it.

"Oooh, you poor thing. You poor thing."

Therese allowed Roy to take baby Sarah and check her for injuries, but there was nothing. No singes, burns or bumps at all. And she quieted more.

"You have gentle hands. Do you have children?"

Roy nodded. "Two." He wrapped the baby up again in the threadbare blanket and handed her back.

"You must be a wonderful father."

Roy shrugged. "Uh, they don't think so around bedtime."

"Unh!"

They both jumped when Johnny suddenly came awake. Roy clamped a protective hand onto the arm with the IV in it.

"Hey, Johnny, it's okay, it's okay. Just lie still."

Johnny's startled brown eyes darted from side to side before he let his head drop.

"Waah-waah-waah."

Johnny's head shot up again. "Baby! There was a baby! Was there a baby?!"

Pointing to Sister Therese who leaned forward so he could see, Roy grinned. "Sure was, partner."

Gage gaped at it for a moment before letting his head fall back on the pillow again.

"Whoa! It was really a baby! I can't believe it."

"And you saved her." Therese touched the tiny face. "It's a miracle."

"You got her out just in time, just before the whole side of the building went."

"Really? Is that what happened?"

"Yep. We found the basket right under you."

"Is she okay?"

"She looks fine. I think she's a newborn. How did you know she was there?"

"Well, you know, I saw the basket by the door and I thought I heard it cry and you know, there are nuns and people leave babies on their doorsteps all the time and, you know, I couldn't leave."

"I've never had a baby left on my doorstep before." Therese turned the little face toward him again. "Her name is Sarah,"

"Woooow." Gage stared at the little miracle for so long that Roy nudged his shoulder.

"Hey partner, you okay?"

"Hunh?"

"How's your head?"

Gage's eyes unfocused as if he was just remembering he still had a head.

"Uh, okay, I think. Kind of hurts. I guess" He closed his eyes and Roy nudged him again.

"Hey, Johnny, eyes open. You know the drill."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't feel nauseous and I'm not losing consciousness on you. Hey, how long was I out?"

Roy checked his watch. "About ten minutes. We're on the way to Rampart."

Johnny moaned. "Oooooh, Brackett's going to want skull x-rays. Is it Brackett?"

"Yep. He'll probably want to keep you overnight, too. Just in case. And you might miss your next shift."

Johnny moaned again.

"Waaah-waah-waaaaah!"

"Ssshhhh," Sister Therese rocked the child and she quieted a bit. "Shhhhhhhh."

Roy leaned on an elbow on one knee and gestured toward nun and baby. "I don't know, Johnny, sort of looks like that's worth missing a shift or two."

One side of Johnny's mouth curled up in a crooked smile. "Yeeeeaah."

* * *

 **** **** ** End Part 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**HERO**

by ardavenport

* * *

 **** **** ** Part 7**

* * *

Chet Kelly and Captain Stanley joined Roy DeSoto on a trip to visit Johnny at Rampart after they got off their shift the following morning.

Stanley told them about his talk with the Mother Superior as they strolled from the admissions desk to the elevator. "You know, she told me she's been in her line of work for thirty years and she's never had a baby left on her doorstep before."

Kelly's lip curled under his bushy mustache. "It's not like being a nun is just a job, Cap."

"That's how she said it."

"Oh. I guess that's alright then."

When they got off the elevator, they headed toward the room number that they had gotten from the admissions desk. All of them were very familiar with Rampart General's layout. A couple of nurses slid emptied breakfast trays into slots in a tall cart and the antiseptic atmosphere was scented with hospital eggs, toast and coffee. But when they arrived at Johnny's room they found an unexpected crowd. Three nurses attended the injured fireman, one of them sitting on the edge of the bed. Roy knew that one of them had already turned his partner down for a date. Twice.

Apparently news of how John Gage had been injured had gotten around Rampart. There was also a vase of flowers on the table next to him. Roy knew that no one at Station Fifty-One had sent them, though his wife, Joanne, talked about bringing something by when he talked to her on the phone that morning. They both agreed that Johnny's ego would be set to maximum and that that they (mostly Roy) would have to weather the storm for a while. Because, Johnny had - - without hesitation for his own life and safety - - saved a baby's life.

"Hey!" Johnny greeted them warmly with a big grin.

Chet Kelly glanced at the women hovering around Gage, his mustache drooping. "Well, we came to cheer you up, but it looks like we wasted a trip."

"Kelly. . ." Stanley's rebuke did not get far because he suddenly recognized Gage's roommate and a familiar woman coming toward them.

"Larry!" Stanley's voice pitch went high with surprise at seeing him and his date from the previous night's disco accident. Sylvie, wearing a blue pantsuit, sensible shoes and much less eye make-up came up to them.

"Oh, it's so good to see you. And thank you for all your help last night."

"Well, just doing our jobs, Ma'am." Stanley modestly repeated the usual acknowledgement of praise from the public.

"Hey, you were a real lifesaver for me last night." Larry waved to them from his bed.

"How's your back doing?" Roy took a step toward Larry's bed.

"Well, the docs don't know what it is. I think they want more x-rays, but I don't know if they're going to figure it out. A good night's sleep seems to have helped it, a lot." Larry gestured toward the other bed with a big grin. "And look who they brought in while I was asleep. Who would have guessed?"

Sylvie moved closer to Roy. "Did he really save a baby from a burning building?"

"Well, the baby wasn't actually in the building, but . . . . ." Everyone else in the room was looking at him and he immediately decided that the exact details were not that important. " . . . yeah, that's what happened."

"I think the Chief put you in for a commendation."

Johnny's smile returned with an extra helping of ego at this news from his Captain.

"Hello?"

They all turned around.

"Sister." She was fully clothed, head to foot in black and white, but Roy easily recognized the Mother Superior. "Sister. Sister." And her lieutenant. And Sister Therese. And a couple more nuns in the hallway.

"We wanted to offer our prayers to our young hero." She praised Johnny, but her gaze seemed to act like a bucket of cold water on the adoring nurses around his bed and they quickly excused themselves. Johnny's smile faltered, the pretty nurses replaced with nuns.

Grinning, Roy glanced toward Kelly to see if he was enjoying the sudden turn in Gage's fortunes, but his fellow firefighter had assumed a defensive, good Catholic boy stance in the presence of so many nuns in uniform. Larry had pulled the blanket up to his neck and Roy wondered if he was Catholic, too.

Sylvie asked the Mother Superior about the baby and she was assured that little Sarah was healthy and well-cared for. The police were making inquiries, but the church could easily arrange an adoption if the mother could not be found. And then she told them that she had already talked to the head nurse on the floor and had found out that the doctor was likely to release Johnny that day and since the sisters had their van with them, offered to take him home or wherever he needed to go.

"Oh, you don't need to do that. . . "

But the Mother Superior insisted and, after Roy assured his partner that he and Joanne would take his car, parked back at the station, back to his apartment. The deal was sealed. Johnny's smile wilted with his extinguished dating plans as he looked at the adoring nuns around him. Roy took a little pity on him.

"Hey, Johnny, at least you're still a hero."

* * *

 ***** *** *** END *** *** *****

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.


End file.
